


This, Too, Is Love

by Canaan



Series: Major Arcana [16]
Category: Doctor Who
Genre: AU, BDSM, M/M, Multi, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-01-02
Updated: 2011-01-02
Packaged: 2017-10-14 08:29:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 14,120
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/147331
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Canaan/pseuds/Canaan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Wanted to do something nice for her.  Could do something nice for you, too."</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue: Negotiation and Duress

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt fill for the Saying_Yes_2010 LJ community. Joking wanted sub!Jack, and while I've filled that once already, this has been been plaguing me for weeks so I finally wrote it down. Part of my Major Arcana series, but reads stand-alone--just assume a previous history of consensual kink between them.

They travel through time and space, getting into trouble and getting back out of it again, and generally they have a really good time doing it.

Sometimes, it's a little rougher. After Wallvan, they needed a rest. The Doctor asked Rose if she wanted to go to London to see her mother for a few hours, or a few days--whatever she needed. Jack was glad to see her agree. She needed the comfort of something _familiar_. The TARDIS might be home, but it wasn't where she grew up. Her nerves were shot. She needed to sit with Jackie Tyler and drink tea and watch telly and gossip about people who didn't understand her, but who were good, ordinary people anyway.

Jack's nerves weren't great, but he'd been through a whole lot more than she had and he had the scars to prove it, even if he didn't keep them on his flesh. He'd be okay. He and the Doctor watched their partner go out the TARDIS's doors before the smile on Jack's face faded. He sighed. "Good," he said. "She needs that."

"Wanted to do something nice for her," the Doctor said from just behind him. An arm snaked around Jack's chest as his lover stepped in close, holding him in a way Jack _knew_ was calculated to make him feel safe. And it was working. Jack found his eyelids drifting to half-mast as he relaxed back into the Time Lord. "Could do something nice for you, too," the Doctor murmured.

Just being held, the cool length of the Doctor's body against his from thigh to shoulder, was nice. Jack found a half-smile on his lips. "I'm pretty good right here, Doctor. You had something in mind?"

The Doctor's fingers toyed with a nipple through the fabric of Jack's T-shirt. It hardened under the touch, and as the Doctor pinched--harder than he'd like, himself, and about perfect as far as Jack was concerned--Jack moaned and found it wasn't the only thing growing hard. "Could own you for a while," the Doctor said. Jack rocked his arse back in response to the words, feeling the beginnings of arousal in his lover. It sounded like a damn fine offer from where he was standing. He opened his mouth to answer, but the Doctor's other hand crept over his lips, silencing him. "Don't just say 'yes,' Jack. I want you to think about it, first. Because there's a catch." Jack closed his mouth and resisted the urge to lick the Doctor's palm. He made an inquiring noise. "If I own you," The Doctor went on, "you won't come until after Rose walks back through those doors."

Jack stilled. It was a promise and a threat. His body reacted to both, and as the Doctor's hand slipped away from his mouth and played its way down over his throat and chest, it only increased his arousal. But . . . "She could be gone for days," Jack said. He liked suffering, liked being teased but not brought, liked being made to wait for release. It was fantastic for an evening with his partners, but days? He shivered.

"Yup," the Doctor agreed. "Adds a bit of a random element to it, don't you think?" He found the button of Jack's jeans and fumbled with it a bit before using both hands to manage button and zip. "You can beg me as much as you want, but it'll be out of my hands. It could be hours, or it could be days. And you'll be suffering the whole time." Jack moaned softly. "I'll make sure of it." The Doctor's hand slipped inside Jack's pants, cupping and stroking a half-hard cock that wouldn't stay half-hard for long if he kept doing that.

Jack whimpered, caught between the Doctor's knowing fingers and the idea of surrendering himself to his lover's less-than-tender mercies for what might be a very long time. He grunted. "Unfair," he said, "asking me to make a decision while you're doing _that_."

The Doctor laughed, low in his throat. He worked his hand down farther and his fingertips stroked lightly over his partner's balls. It wrenched a strange little noise from Jack's throat. "Would you want it any other way?" the Doctor asked.

Jack found himself chuckling in return. "Hell no," he said, and then gasped as the Doctor squeezed just a little too hard.

The Doctor said, "Think about it, Jack. Makes no difference to me. I'm offering you the chance to be completely, delightfully miserable in some of the ways you like best."

When Jack didn't answer, the Doctor drew his hand away. "I didn't--" Jack started to protest.

The Doctor swatted his arse. "Go stand by the railing," he ordered.

Jack swallowed, both relieved that he hadn't lost the choice yet and suddenly concerned by his proximity to the TARDIS's doors. Rose could realize she'd left something on board and come back in at any moment. Given her mum's habit of running down to the pavement whenever she heard the TARDIS's engines, Jackie could be with her. Jack damn well knew why he was meant to stand by the railing. He crossed the few steps of deck to do it. Anybody walking in those doors was going to get an eyeful. Not that it bothered _him_ , generally speaking, but Rose would be embarrassed and this was definitely on the list of things Jackie Tyler ought _never_ to see.

The Doctor followed him. He drew Jack's jeans and pants down to mid-thigh, baring his arse and leaving him absolutely no room to part his legs. Or walk away, for that matter--not that there was any chance of Jack's doing that! Jack bent forward without being asked, folding his arms across the railing's padded top bar and resting his head on them. There were no preliminaries; the Doctor put two slick fingers inside him, pressing right on his prostate, and Jack found himself moaning softly and trying not to move. "You don't get anything," he gritted out between moans, "out of making me miserable."

The Doctor's fingers were firm as they stroked him. They didn't go very far: this wasn't about preparing him to be fucked. This was all about making it very, very hard for Jack to think. "No," the Doctor agreed as Jack squirmed under his touch. "But I get somethin' out of taking care of you, lad." Jack groaned and pushed back into the touch, but that just made the Doctor straighten his fingers so Jack couldn't get any pressure where he wanted it. When he whimpered and stilled his hips, the Doctor went back to teasing him. "You could have hours of this, Jack. You could have the kind of pain you really enjoy. I could really push you--I don't have to sleep for a few days."

"Oh . . . fuck," Jack muttered.

"You could be naked and helpless while I do things to you don't know if you really want. But you'll try them, because I'm asking you to. You have a safe word. You know what it's for. If you _really_ want to stop, all you'll have to do is say it." Jack growled a little, which got him more pressure and a twist of deft fingers that made his knees weak. "The offer expires in sixty seconds. We can have a perfectly nice time staying in and doing nothing, if you'd rather. There's always books to be read, tertiary junctions to be cleaned--"

"Yes!" Jack interrupted, before the Doctor could spin his brain in any more circles. "Yes--please. I want to be yours. At your mercy. Subject to Rose's timing." He swallowed. "Please."

The Doctor's fingers withdrew. "Good lad," he said. Jack knew he ought to stand up, but he had to leave his head where it was for a minute. He was still reeling with anticipation and just the right touch of dread.

When he straightened up and faced the Doctor, the Time Lord's eyes went from his face to his very hard cock and back again. The Doctor smiled. "Now, Captain," he said quietly, "You're to go to wardrobe and find something more useful to wear. Something . . . " he considered, "easy-access."

Jack looked down at the floor. The Wallvan incident hadn't even crossed his mind since Rose left. "Yes, Doctor," he said. He pulled his trousers up enough that he could walk easily, though he couldn't begin to fasten them. As he started to walk past his partner, the Doctor caught him with one arm and drew him into a close embrace.

The Doctor was so good with words, but "I love you" wasn't on the list. Jack sighed and rested his chin on his lover's shoulder. It didn't have to be. After a minute, the Doctor said, "Wardrobe."

Jack smiled and kissed his lips. "Yes, Doctor."


	2. Part 1: Preparation and Denial

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I recommend considering each part of TTIL as a separate vignette in chronological order, rather than chapters in a story. This part begins an extension to the original ficlet, written for Yamx and the TARDIS Blue bidding coalition, who won me with a very generous donation to Support Stacie. As such, it may be uncomfortably kinky for some folks--it's targeted for my auction winners. Special thanks to Mimarie for fabulous beta-reading outside her usual 'ship, and to Viridian Magpie for awesome pinch-hit beta-ing and totally rocking the blue-pencil.
> 
> Disclaimer: I don't own them, and I'm sure the BBC is relieved.

There were days the Doctor didn't think about being the last of his people. There were days he could think of nothing but, and every moment multiplied the echoes in that part of his brain that should sense the rest of his species until the pain was like a sword through his viscera.

Then there were days like today.

This room hadn't existed yesterday, but it was entirely appropriate for his purposes--a combination of his own subconscious desires, the TARDIS's understanding of his needs, and a certain amount of detailed programming. This meant that somewhere in the memory storage area of the TARDIS, there were now off-white templates of a pleasant enough bed, a fair bit of single-purposed furniture with a great many tie-down points, and a number of implements designed for the sole purpose of, as he'd said to Jack, making someone delightfully miserable.

Days like today, the Doctor found himself vaguely relieved that no other Time Lord would ever stumble across those off-white templates and the damning (to a Time Lord, anyway) tale they told.

Jack stopped in the doorway, staring. He wore what looked like leather trousers--and nothing else. As he approached, the Doctor asked, "Thought I said easy access?" He gestured at Jack's trousers.

"The seams are all Maruvian charge seals," Jack said. His fingers plucked at a faintly raised point at the waist (well, more like the hip, really) of the trousers, which began to part under his hand in a line leading down his leg. "You can open them along any seal and expose . . . whatever you want . . . while the rest clings to the skin."

Meaning he could peel Jack like a banana. The Doctor grinned. He didn't entirely understand Jack and Rose's fascination with clothes as an element of sexual play--though he rather approved of Rose in tall boots--but he wouldn't deny them the pleasure. _"It's like wrapping paper,"_ Rose had said once. Nudity would have looked even better on Jack and been more convenient, but Jack would appreciate the exposure and loss of control as his trousers were removed, strip by strip.

The Doctor set his hand on Jack's hip and slid it upward, letting the seam re-seal, and bent his head just enough to let his lips brush the side of his partner's neck when he spoke. "Huh. Think maybe they need a test run."

Jack swallowed. "Yes, Doctor."

The Doctor licked his way up Jack's throat. It forced Jack's head back, drawing attention to the cut-time human pulse beneath his skin and arching his back a bit. He moaned softly.

"I see just the thing over there," the Doctor promised, standing straight. He tucked his fingers into the waist of Jack's trousers, careful not to separate any of the seams, and tugged. "Come along, Jack," he murmured.

The noise Jack made might have been a soft whine of loss, but he swallowed it down. "Yes, Doctor." He straightened up, and the Doctor led him to a heavy, waist-high A-frame with padding along the top. Jack stretched his upper body along its length without being asked, his arms finding the armrests on either side.

Wide straps wound around each arm, binding Jack to the bench. As the Doctor drew the second strap tight, a tiny tremor passed through Jack's frame, and he relaxed. Restraint--especially if he couldn't see what was going on--made Jack feel safe. Observed fact, even if Jack couldn't really explain _why_. The Doctor stroked his back, enjoying the way Jack arched into the touch.

Pain, on the other hand . . . pain was something else entirely. It didn't seem to be emotional for Jack, just a matter of sensation. The Doctor parted the charge seals toward the outsides of his thighs, peeling back the broad stretch of fabric in-between and rubbing his palm over the newly exposed skin to make Jack shiver.

Jack might enjoy other types of pain more, but the Doctor appreciated the intimacy of bringing his bare hand down across Jack's arse, feeling the flesh resilient under his palm as blood began to flow toward the skin. Jack gasped and made small pleasure-noises as the blows began to fall. "You like pain," the Doctor said, quietly. "Any kind of impact, from the lightest lash to things that could really injure you if we weren't careful."

He left a silence, and when Jack didn't reply, he stopped with his hand in the air. Jack groaned. "Yes, Doctor," he said. The Doctor rewarded him with a few sharp smacks. "Not all kinds--I still have my limits. But the more turned on I am, the more I can take."

"Pain," the Doctor continued thoughtfully, as he spanked and Jack wriggled into the bench's padding. "Restraint. Blindfolds. No gags, you told Rose--too fond of running your mouth, you are."

Jack made a strangled sound as he searched for some answer that wouldn't get him a punishment of the sort he _didn't_ want. "I'm sorry, Doctor," he said.

It surprised a laugh from the Time Lord's throat. "Oh, don't be sorry yet, lad. Just gettin' warmed up, here. You'll have plenty of chance to be sorry before we're done." Jack's skin was a nice, even pink under his hand, which was about as far as he planned to go at the moment. Not that Jack wouldn't enjoy more, but the Doctor expected him to be sitting for a fair bit, and there was no need to put him through that kind of discomfort where there were so many other flavors for him to taste. The Doctor brushed fingers over the flushed skin, and Jack whimpered.

He ran one fingertip very lightly along the crack of Jack's arse, drawing a violent shiver and a quiet moan from his partner. It was such a little, gentle touch, to draw that level of reaction. He repeated it, stroking up and down and watching Jack squirm. "How does that feel, Jack?"

Jack visibly groped for the words to answer that. "Almost . . . tickles," he muttered.

The Doctor's eyebrows rose. He grinned. "Speaking of things I ought to do to you, you hate tickling so much."

Jack groaned and cringed. The Doctor stopped touching him, and he tugged at his restraints, helplessly.

"Not going to, though," the Doctor said cheerfully, watching the struggling stop. He pulled a bottle of lube from his pocket and coated his fingers liberally. "I'm quite sure Rose will do the honors at some point. She ought to have the chance to get there first." Jack's groan of despair became something else entirely as the Doctor pushed two fingers roughly inside him. He crooked them forward, almost too hard, and Jack spat a curse. "She's got a positive instinct for finding things you're not entirely comfortable with and then making you bend to her will." The suggestion made Jack push against him the small measure his bonds would allow. The Doctor put his other hand on the small of Jack's back, pressing him firmly against the bench, so he couldn't move. The resulting whimper of surrender made the Doctor catch his breath. "Kind of looking forward to the day she does," he admitted. "Now me, sometimes I have to work things out the hard way. I know you like this. I know that almost-too-much is just about right for you."

"Fuck, yeah," Jack gasped into the silence the Doctor left for him.

It wasn't really the right reply, but they'd only just begun, and Jack wasn't fully in that headspace, yet. The Doctor made the shift to three fingers and watched his partner's entire body shudder in response. "But I don't know about the things we haven't tried. I don't know where your edges are. I'm three fingers into you, and you're begging for more. Where does it stop?" The Doctor flexed his fingers and listened to Jack's moans take on that little desperate edge he was so familiar with. "I asked you a question, Jack."

***

  
"I'm sorry, Doctor," Jack gasped, and struggled to find words for an answer as the Doctor's fingers curled hard against his prostate. "I've . . . never done fisting," he managed on an outbound breath. "Didn't trust anyone that way . . . Potential damage . . . kind of scares me. Big hands."

"Fair enough," the Doctor said. He drew his fingers out with a twist that left Jack wanting, but there was no sound of a zip sliding down in the silence that followed. Jack whimpered--he hadn't really thought he'd get that lucky, but his body had its own set of expectations, and with that big hand against the small of his back, he couldn't even rock his erection into the bench he lay across.

"Hold still, Jack." The pressure at his back eased, and the Doctor unfastened the restraints at his wrists. There were times Jack pushed the Doctor, looking for a response--but that wasn't the game they were playing right now, and Jack held still. He could hear the Doctor moving around behind him--the slick sounds of more lube, followed by the splash of water. Jack closed his eyes and waited.

A cool hand grasped his elbow. "Up, now," the Doctor encouraged. Jack opened his eyes and stood, what had once been the seat of his trousers brushing against the backs of his legs. There was no one here but the two of them, but it still left him feeling naked in a way that simple nudity never could. The Doctor smiled wryly and brushed a kiss across the corner of his mouth. Then he nodded toward a corner of the room. "Sit there."

Jack looked. There was a seat built into that corner, with tie-down points all along both walls to secure his arms and legs, and a brightly-colored dildo pointing more or less straight up from the smooth surface of the seat. He shivered, and even the charge on the fabric of his trousers was losing ground trying to hold them tight against his erection. Sitting there--on that--would guarantee he was distracted and turned on for whatever the Doctor had in mind. It would also make it more or less impossible for him to move in certain ways, or get up again without help--he just wouldn't have the leverage.

His already-hard cock twitched at the thought. "Yes, Doctor."

He made his way over, twisting his fingers into a pair of tie-down points to control his rate of descent. As he started to lower himself, he glanced up to find the Doctor watching him, eyes dark with desire. The wide leather cuffs Jack liked best dangled from one hand. Between the look in the Doctor's eyes and the slow incursion into his body as he sat, Jack found himself groaning with need by the time his bum was firmly on the seat.

Jack offered his hands. The Doctor fastened the cuffs, the leather snug around his wrists and impossible to wriggle out of. He tied Jack's hands above his head, each to a different wall. A cubby below the bench provided a longer pair of restraints--fabric this time. Jack raised his eyebrows. The Doctor ignored the question and wrapped the restraints tightly just above Jack's knees. Jack inhaled sharply, arousal thrumming even more strongly through his flesh as he understood. He was still wearing his trousers--well, half of them--but there was something utterly vulnerable about letting the Doctor anchor his knees to their separate walls, leaving his thighs spread at a right angle and utterly unmovable. Secured as he was, he couldn't protect himself in any way. He loved being at his partners' mercy, but this was the first time he'd been quite this helpless for one of them.

It was also the first time he'd really been forced to watch. The Doctor's eyes held Jack's as he sank to his knees. His thumb found a seam on the front of Jack's trousers. Jack's eyes followed as it parted the fabric over his left hipbone and down his thigh, exposing his cock. The Doctor wrapped long, clever fingers around him, slipping his hand languidly over skin already slick with pre-cum. Jack's head fell back as he moaned, and his hips shifted, putting more pressure on his prostate. It made him gasp and writhe. "I said you wouldn't come, Jack," the Doctor said, in that low, hungry voice that always went straight to Jack's cock. "Let's be clear about this: that means I want you _not_ to come. I'm going to bring you very, very close."

Jack's breath caught at the words. "You're . . . going to make me beg," he managed, his eyes half-shut. _And begging's not gonna help . . . which just makes it hotter._

The Doctor nodded, seriously. "And worse. But it only works if you remember that you're not to come. You want me to own you? You have to let me own everything, including that."

Jack groaned and swallowed. "Never figured . . . anything else. I don't have permission. You want me . . . to fight it."

"Yes." The sudden ferocity of the grip on his cock stole his breath and made his eyes open wide. The intensity of the Doctor's attention had him rocking his hips again. He gritted his teeth around a strangled cry.

The Doctor's grip disappeared. He bent his head and dragged a cool, wet tongue across the head of Jack's cock. The change in sensation when he was already so turned on had Jack's vision going white as he fought to hold back. He forced air into his lungs, filling them in huge, deep gasps. He could just hear his lover's voice over his own heartbeat echoing in his ears:

"I can hear your breathing change, Jack. I can taste your pulse under your skin. Different muscles tremble. Your scent changes. The composition of your sweat. It's plenty of warning, plenty of time to stop--to let you come down a bit and keep you suffering."

"Yes, Doctor," Jack wheezed. It felt like minutes passed before he could really see again. He found the Doctor still between his knees, smiling up at him as his breathing eased and he slipped away from the dangerous edge of orgasm. He rolled his hips again, savoring the pleasure along with the desire.

"Show-off," the Doctor said.

Jack smirked.

The Doctor shook his head. "Time Lords don't have this obsessive sexual drive that humans do." Before Jack could draw breath to argue, he went on. "I can't think of everything, so you're going to do it for me. I want you to talk, Jack. I want to hear about every dirty, painful, humiliating, arousing, twisted sexual act you can think of." The words stole the smirk from Jack's lips. The Doctor bent to lick the delicate skin where cock met balls, and he gasped. "If it's a kink you've ever even heard of," the Doctor breathed, "I want to hear about it. And for each one, I want to know if it turns you on. Or turns you off. If you're really not sure about it. If it scares you."

Jack breathed deeply. "You want me to tell you how to take me apart."

The Doctor straightened. He reached up to brush his knuckles over Jack's cheek, along the line of his jaw and down his throat. "You want me to take you apart."

 _Like you wouldn't believe._ He moaned. "Yes, Doctor."

The Doctor bent and drew Jack's cock into his mouth for a moment, sucking hard until Jack whimpered and then pulling slowly away. "Start talking, lad," he said softly. "And keep talking." He punctuated the demand with another lick. "Because if you stop, so do I."

Just the thought made Jack ache. "Yes, Doctor," he said.


	3. Part 2: Suffering and Affection

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I recommend considering each part of TTIL as a separate vignette in chronological order, rather than chapters in a story. This one's a bit short, but this is what it wanted to be. Written for Yamx and the TARDIS Blue bidding coalition, who won me with a very generous donation to Support Stacie. As such, it may be uncomfortably kinky for some folks--it's targeted for my auction winners.
> 
> Beta'd by Mimarie and Viridian Magpie. Any mistakes are All Mine. Disclaimer: I don't own them, and I'm sure the BBC is relieved.

Jack drifted in a half-aware haze made up of small discomforts, low-grade desire, and the throb of a double heartbeat under his ear. His thoughts were distant, affectionate, and without motive force. It wasn't sleep, really, but it was timeless and undemanding.

Pleasure filtered into his world, bringing with it a sharp arousal. His dazed wits focused on it slowly, identifying the hand stroking his belly and the teasing fingertips on his cock as the Doctor's.

Again.

He groaned in frustration and surrendered to the touch. Cool lips brushed his forehead.

It was so much better like this.

***

  
 _Jack's arse was sore, his nipples sensitive from ongoing teasing and abuse, and his balls aching with frustrated need. The minor discomforts would have faded out of his awareness if he had anything to distract him, but no--the Doctor seemed to think he should sleep._

 __"Sleep. You know--that thing that humans do at night."

"There's no night on a spaceship, let alone a TARDIS," Jack had complained.

The Doctor's grin was pitiless. "It's night in London, though. You goin' to say you're not tired? Sleep while you can, Jack--you'll be begging for it, later."

"You think I can sleep like _this_?" __

 _The Doctor had left Jack tied to the bed, his wrists bound together and attached to the headboard. He was turned on and bored, and sleep was the furthest thing from his mind. The cuffs were to make sure he didn’t succumb to the temptation of his own hand--which wasn't much of a temptation. Why would he want to touch himself? His ongoing arousal was a slow torture, and yet . . . lying here in distress, with his body both aching and still wanting more, any touch began to seem better than none. He groaned and shifted on the bed, trying to find a--well, not a more comfortable position, but a position where the discomfort was easier to bear, where he wasn't so acutely aware of his lonely and half-hard cock, where maybe he could have at least a little pressure . . ._

 _The Doctor had tied his hands, but that didn't mean Jack couldn't move. Several small shifts, made awkward by his bound hands and the position of his shoulders, finally got him onto his belly. He squirmed up the bed until he could rest his head at some angle that didn't have him breathing into either the mattress or his elbow, and relaxed. Better, yes, it was better to have the soft surface of the bed beneath him. He thrust against it softly in a slow, rocking motion. If the mattress beneath the bedclothes was really too yielding, it still gave him some touch, some stimulation. He'd never be able to come this way, but he wasn't supposed to, and the gentle tease of mild arousal built pleasantly, low in his belly._

 _"Jack." (The Doctor in Jack's memories said,_ You do love to suffer, don't you, lad? _The one standing over him sounded distinctly less amused). Jack stilled. "I told you not to touch yourself," the Doctor said._

***

  
Jack moved his hips without really thinking about it, a slow thrusting that only sometimes found him any sensation. His breath came more quickly. The Doctor nibbled lightly at the side of his neck and throat. He moaned.

***

  
 _"I wasn't . . . " Jack protested, but he couldn't even convince himself of that--he wasn't about to convince his partner._

 _The Doctor's voice was mild. "You knew what I meant."_

 _Jack swore under his breath, frustration putting an edge on the syllables. He should apologize for his disobedience, but he wasn't feeling particularly apologetic--more like surly and uncomfortable. The Doctor's hand settled on the back of his neck. He flinched, and the light touch became a firm restraint. It eased some of his fears: that he might really have upset his partner, or that the game might end right here. Jack sighed, some of the tension flowing out of him._

 _"Think I should have expected this," the Doctor said thoughtfully. Jack blinked, confused. "That doesn't make it right for you to disobey--it just means I should have known better than to leave you alone."_

 _It felt like distrust, and worse . . . it was justified. "I'm sorry, Doctor," he said softly. "I just . . . " He couldn't seem to come up with the words to finish that thought._

 _The Doctor set a book on the bedside table and turned the lights up a bit. He walked around the foot of the bed to the large-ish cupboard set along the same wall. Jack turned his head, craning his neck to watch as the Doctor looked through the cupboard's contents. He couldn't see what it held, but he could guess, and the anticipation of punishment wasn't just pleasant--it brought a certain relief._

 _"It's not just about suffering, is it, Jack?" the Doctor asked._

 _The question was . . . foreign, somehow, and it made Jack look at his own thoughts through a lens he mostly didn't use. Arousal without relief had a certain entertainment value, even flying solo. Sometimes it was a game, Jack's trying to wind the Doctor up and then getting what he was asking for--which usually meant waiting until his lovers were less annoyed with him for his own climax._

 __"Attention-getting behaviors," _the Doctor had complained. But that was what made the game worth playing. All that focus, intensity, force--that was the real turn-on. It made the suffering worthwhile. "For you," Jack breathed. "Suffering for you. Pain's so much more . . . "_ enjoyable, arousing, _" . . . valid . . . if it's at your hands."_

 _The Doctor came up with a simple flogger, the supple leather of the falls swinging enticingly as he closed the cupboard and stepped back over to the bedside. "Why?" he asked._

 _Jack blinked. "Because you love me." It started out as a statement, but he found his voice rising at the end of it, suddenly tentative._

 _The Doctor's thoughtful expression softened into something gentler and more tender than Jack ever saw on him outside a bedroom. He let the tips of the falls brush over Jack's shoulders and back, tracing a slow, winding path down toward his arse. Jack shuddered with anticipation. "And that's why I'm going to punish you," the Doctor said._

 _The words soothed and stroked something inside Jack's head, something much more intimate than his skin, and his cock responded. "Yes, Doctor."_

 _"I'll punish you, Jack, because you didn't do as I said. But I won't leave you again--not while you're like this."_

 _Jack's eyes drifted shut while he waited for the flogger's sting. "Yes, Doctor," he murmured. "Thank you, Doctor."_

***

  
Jack begged in soft little half-words and nonsense syllables as the Doctor teased him. The Doctor wondered if he was even aware of it. The susurration lapped against the Doctor's senses, washing over his ears to pool in narrow, thoughtful chambers in his brain. There was something very fine about Jack's pleading and shuddering, something beautiful in the way he abandoned himself to it.

"It isn't about you, Jack," he answered the entreaties. It was a lie, of course--the torment was all about, all _for_ Jack. But it filled some need in Jack, to feel that his desires were incidental; that his discomfort was secondary and his body was a toy, the subject of his lovers' whims. The words struck his body like a strong wind, and the way he trembled in the Doctor's arms was fantastic.

***

  
 _The pain was real, but so was the pleasure, and that was what let the Doctor bring the flogger down over and over as Jack quit flinching against the sharp sting of each blow, his body no longer protesting it. His bum went pink, and then darkened to red. The Doctor set the flogger aside and crouched beside the bed to kiss what he'd made so sore. Jack shuddered and breathed, "I'm sorry, Doctor. Thank you, Doctor."_

 _The Doctor stroked the small of his back. "I know you're sorry. Good lad. Just lie still for me a moment."_

 _The Doctor undressed, setting his clothes and boots on a chair to one side of the room. He knelt on the bed, unhooked Jack's hands from the headboard, and unclipped his wrists one from the other. The cuffs, he left where they were. Jack shivered, as if suddenly cold. The Doctor stretched out beside him, drawing his lover into his arms and pulling the duvet from the foot of the bed up over them._

 _"I trust you, Jack," the Doctor said. "You won't be tempted to touch, not as long as I'm here with you." Jack snuggled against him, his head on the Doctor's chest and one arm stretched across his ribs. "Touch feels good . . . but the surrender feels so much better, doesn't it?"_

 _"Yes, Doctor," Jack said sleepily._

 _The Doctor rolled onto his side, his arms going around Jack's waist and his legs entangling with his lover's. It put Jack's cock hard against his hip, but there was no subtle motion there, no taking advantage of the position. The Doctor slid his hand downward, stroking his fingertips along the crack of Jack's arse._

 _Jack made a small noise of arousal. "Not going to be able to sleep with you doing that," he said softly._

 _The Doctor kissed the top of his head. "Don't intend you to."_

***

  
In any other circumstance, it would have been a terrible thing to do. The Doctor didn't bring Jack to the edge, didn't give him any sense of closure. He just stopped, leaving Jack aching. Jack whimpered, and the Doctor murmured to him soothingly, stroking his hip until he relaxed into the touch with a miserable little sound. The Doctor shifted Jack's unresisting weight to rest in a slightly different position and picked up his book from the bedside table again.

It was a strange thing, being partnered to a pair of humans. Sometimes, they both took some extra work. But there were moments like this, with Jack's head resting trustingly on his shoulder after the Doctor had finished tormenting him and before he started again, that reminded him he wouldn't want anything else.


	4. Part 3: Suggestibility and Sensation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written for Yamx and the TARDIS Blue bidding coalition, who won me with a very generous donation to Support Stacie. As such, it may be uncomfortably kinky for some folks--it's targeted for my auction winners. Please note, if the warning level on this fic in general is "kinky smut," then the warning level on this particular part is " _really_ kinky smut."
> 
> Still beta'd through the good offices of Mimarie and Viridian Magpie. Disclaimer: I don't own them, and I'm sure the BBC is relieved.

The Doctor had tea in the morning, and Jack didn't. Jack hadn't slept--the Doctor had made sure of it--and a stimulant like coffee or tea would be counterproductive. Jack ate toast, because the Doctor told him to, and then he knelt on the kitchen floor beside the table, masturbating to the edge of orgasm and then stopping--because the Doctor had told him to do that, too. It made him a very pleasant distraction and kept him busy while the Doctor finished his tea and wrote out a list.

It was getting to be a very long list.

Item: Jack would love to be contained in a box or cage, unable to see, unable to move, with hands he didn't know reaching through the holes to stroke and pinch and grope him.

Thinking about it made the Doctor scowl.

Item: Jack enjoyed being tied up. Easy enough to do. Fewer complications than a box, and still fulfilling. A little care in the tying, and he could be furniture. The Doctor could wrap him like a mummy and use the flat of his stomach to rest tools on while he worked under the console. Of course, the Doctor'd have to be careful not to get too absorbed in the work--if he didn't remember to grab _Jack's_ tool now and again, he'd end up with a bored, annoyed partner.

But no, not engaging enough. The point was to wear Jack down slowly--to let fatigue and need and the strange places submission took him inside his own head open him up to things he wouldn't have considered before.

Besides, while Jack would make an engaging tool shelf, he'd work out even better as a footstool the next time Rose was wearing her clubbing boots. The two of them would make a very pretty picture together. But that was for another day.

Item: Bend him over the console for sex? Not impossible--just have to disable the controls on one side so the TARDIS didn't take any unplanned trips. He couldn't imagine it'd be much fun, himself--too many sharp bits. But it was something Jack had mentioned: Shag him thoroughly enough and the sharp bits would likely _add_ to the experience.

Item: The Doctor knew exactly what effect Eerstonat onion would have on mucous membranes. The fact that Jack was interested in that experience proved once again that humans could be perverse--not that they had a monopoly on it. But yes, he imagined the insertion of a piece would hold Jack's attention. On his knees in the library might be nice. Jack would have to wank, or it would just be pain. The Doctor could read a book--well, mostly--and watch from a comfortable chair as his partner trembled, unable to escape the onion's bite, not allowed to come, writhing in an effort to escape his own skin and enjoying every moment of it as tears streamed down his face.

It did seem like that kind of experience would usually end in orgasm, though. And with that level of distraction, the Doctor would have to keep a careful eye on him, both to talk him through the hard parts and to be sure he balanced on the raw edge of orgasm without passing over it.

The Doctor tapped the tip of his biro against the page and considered his partner's distress. He could fill a few days just with the things he already knew Jack wanted. He could have him begging. He _already_ had him begging (on the kitchen floor, not five feet away). But that wasn't the point.

They'd played this game before, but not at this length, and Jack had a pattern. He'd get his partners wound up, get punished, apologize, and get punished some more. It was generally enjoyable enough for all three of them, but it didn't take days. If they were going to spend days at this, the Doctor wanted to coax something different out of Jack. He didn't want his lover just submitting by way of apology.

He wanted him to do it for love.

***

  
Jack stared at the piece of paper dangling from the Doctor's fingers through a haze of no sleep and not enough adrenaline to really bring things into focus. "Fine memory, me," the Doctor said. He bit gently at the bend where Jack's neck and shoulder met--and then, not gently.

Jack moaned.

The Doctor's other arm slipped around him, circumscribing his existence. Clever hands folded the paper, doing away with half the choices as he watched. His heart rate picked up.

Still holding the list in one hand, the Doctor let the other slither down Jack's chest and stomach to fondle him. Jack whimpered, instantly half-hard and aching with a day's (had it been a day? He thought it had been a day . . .) worth of unfulfilled arousal. "You're going to choose one," the Doctor said.

Jack swallowed. "Yes, Doctor."

He really hoped that Rose would never see this list. The Doctor's memory was much better than "fine," and Jack wasn't sure he wanted his other partner to know he knew about some of these things. Not only had every deviant thought on that page come out of his own mouth, the Doctor had placed them into neat little groups according to Jack's comfort-level--and then folded away the "safe" ones.

Nothing left on the list made Jack happy, and the care with which the Doctor took those choices from him was staggeringly hot and terrifyingly complete. Jack felt the Doctor's chest inflate and hurried ahead before his partner could speak. "I'm sorry, Doctor," Jack said. He forced a strangled laugh. "This is harder than I thought it would be."

The Doctor stroked the flat of Jack's stomach soothingly. "You trust me to take care of you?" the Doctor asked.

Jack leaned his head back, letting it rest on his partner's shoulder. "Yes." He straightened up again, regarding the list. The Doctor held it steady. Jack covered one grouping with his hand, closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and pointed.

***

  
The Doctor turned away from the bedside table and drew Jack to his feet. Jack swayed a bit, numb with fear and drunk with desire. Soft, cool kisses almost overwhelmed him, and he willed himself lost in them.

The moment ended, of course. The Doctor held him loosely, leaning back enough to meet Jack's gaze, then gave him a little shove toward the bed. _Go,_ those pale blue eyes said. _Do this for me. Do it because I ask. Do it because you love me._ It was the force of that look, and not the gentle shove, that pushed him back against the edge of the bed. He sat, abruptly.

Fatigue and stress, the offspring of a sleepless night and his painful, ongoing need, lent a fine, sharp edge to the scene as the Doctor advanced on him. Jack worked his way clumsily backward onto the bed, as if in slow motion, keeping his eyes on his lover as he propped himself up on the pillows--never letting himself glance at the bedside table.

The Doctor stretched that long swimmer's body over him, kissing a line down his jaw and throat to the little valley between his collar bones. When Jack's arms automatically began to go around his partner's shoulders, the Doctor captured his hands, drawing them down to the mattress and tucking them beneath the small of his back, out of the way. Jack groaned and rocked his hips up against the Doctor's, enjoying the rough feel of black denim against his cock and the answering hardness beneath, refusing to think about why he was on the bed, right up until the moment the Doctor's weight shifted and Jack found himself looking over, without meaning to, at a spindle of blue tape that stuck only to itself . . . and then he couldn't look away.

Jack watched with helpless fascination as the Doctor tore a length of the soft, pliable tape off the spindle. He swallowed, wanting and not wanting, his protests caught in a dry throat, behind lips that suddenly refused to work. The Doctor looked down at Jack with eyes gone gentle. "It will hurt," he said.

Jack nodded.

The Doctor worked his way back down the bed until he straddled Jack's knees. Long fingers cupped balls that were tender and swollen. Jack moaned at the sensation and dragged his eyes away, fixing them on his partner's. The tape was slick and faintly cool, but it warmed to his body temperature almost immediately as the Doctor wrapped a loop of it snugly around delicate flesh. Another loop went below that, and another, constricting, drawing his balls farther away from his body. The tension on the tape wasn't enough for pain, but the pressure was a breathtaking sensation all its own, and he whimpered. He half-heard the Doctor murmuring, " . . . all that blood flow, trapped. It will hurt, but you'll be so sensitive when I touch you . . . "

Jack's world narrowed to that voice in his ears and the growing throb becoming a different kind of ache in his balls. He whimpered and twitched his hips, inadvertently tugging against the Doctor's grip. The pain was sharp and immediate, wringing a gasp from Jack and going straight to his cock. The Doctor's look was thoughtful. He ran a fingernail lightly along tightly-drawn skin. The touch made Jack shudder hugely, a stream of syllables falling from his lips that might have been encouragement or protest.

The second tug was deliberate. Jack's eyes widened and his back arched. Blue eyes held him and kept him from falling. "Please," he gasped, his voice echoing strangely in his own ears.

The Doctor smiled and began to play with his response in earnest.

Jack moaned and writhed. He forced his eyes to stay open, but he stopped seeing anything, stopped feeling time, or anything else except his lover's touch. A sudden flash of cold against his balls stilled him. He gasped for air. "No. Please . . . " he mumbled.

The Doctor laid a finger across his lips. "Shh," he said, gently. "Tell me when it hurts, Jack."

Jack whimpered and nodded.

His world narrowed to the smooth, hard pressure of the quickly-warming clamp the Doctor'd chosen from the bedside table and the tip of a cool tongue that sometimes visited his cock and sometimes his balls, as if checking to see if he were done, yet. When he couldn't bear it, Jack breathed, "Stop! Stop! Please! There--just there!"

The Doctor's tongue played along his slit, the sensation dragging a ragged whine from his throat. He felt small, reassuring circles traced over his hipbone. "Just a little farther," the Doctor murmured.

Jack swallowed and groaned, drawn taut between pleasure and pain. The clamp tightened and he cried out, but the Doctor murmured approval, told him that was far enough, just there, he could just stay there a minute, let them both enjoy it, just breathe, just breathe for me . . . Jack swallowed great gulps of air, his head flung back, his neck exposed. The Doctor took him in hand, long, slow strokes of his cock sending pleasure up his spine with electric force. Jack heard, "There, that's it, that's beautiful, just like that, knew you could do it . . ."

Jack floated, timelessly, on the Doctor's approval and love.

The pressure of the clamp eased gradually, bringing with it both relief and loss. The tape released all at once, and the pain of restored blood flow made Jack yelp and buck, trying to escape something he couldn't run from as sensation swamped his nerves, and _fuck_ , he wanted to come . . . Strong hands grasped his hips, forcing them down against the mattress, and a cool tongue teased at a sensitive spot just behind the head of his cock, wringing a gasp and a groan from him and giving him something to focus on, something to ground himself with. He shut his eyes against the mingled sensations, the boundary between pleasure and pain inextricably blurred.

It took forever to ebb, or maybe no time at all. When he could breathe, when he could open his eyes again, he shuddered with pleasure and looked down the length of his body to find the Doctor licking over and around his balls with long, slow laps of his tongue. The sight of his lover looking up at him over his cock was almost hotter than anything that had come before. He moaned, thrusting helplessly into the air in the Doctor's relaxed grip.

The Doctor paused, smiling at him "Welcome back, lad," he said.

Jack made an inarticulate noise.

The Doctor chuckled. "Not much on words, are you?" Jack's throat worked helplessly, but the rest of him didn't seem to be operating. "Oh, well, no help for it." The Doctor knelt over him, then crawled up the length of his body. "Let's make better use of that mouth of yours, then."

There were still no words, Jack found. But his eyes fell shut, and as he heard the sound of a zip being drawn back, he let his lips part, content.


	5. Part 4: Disobedience and Abnegation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written for Yamx and the TARDIS Blue bidding coalition, who won me with a very generous donation to Support Stacie. I have now driven off two beta readers with this fic. The level of kink and the intensity are required by the story requested by my auction winners. Not because they requested it, but because that's how it's going to be if I'm doing it right. In other words, this is not the kinder, gentler kink that you might usually expect from me. Please read with caution. Beta'd in some combination by Mimarie, Sahiya, Fuzzyboo03, and Viridian Magpie. Any mistakes are All Mine.
> 
> Disclaimer: I don't own them, and I'm sure the BBC is relieved.

Jack isn't sure when he is. He isn't sure if he's slept. It's one thing to push yourself to your limits on a mission or in a combat situation, running on adrenaline and training and habit, going on because there's no alternative. It's something else entirely at home, after the stress is gone, with no way to differentiate night from day and someone you love taking care of you.

It's quietly fantastic.

He thinks he must have slept, because he's lying face-down in bed in this room designed just for him, and the Doctor is fucking him, and he's not sure quite how they got to this point--not that he's objecting. It's tender and hot, and also inescapable, the pleasure mounting with each gentle stroke across his frequently-abused prostate. Jack groans, and the Doctor caresses the small of his back. "Up on your knees, Jack," he suggests.

Jack pushes himself back on his knees without really thinking about it and folds his arms under his forehead. The Doctor moves with him, and the change in angle is glorious, in an utterly maddening sort of way. Jack moans and shudders, and the Doctor reaches around him to stroke his cock in time with the thrusts, which makes him curse and bite his lip and try not to thrust into that too-knowing hand, when he wants to move more than anything else in the universe . . . "Doctor," he whimpers, "I can't . . . "

"You can," the Doctor says gently.

Jack can, but it's so hard to remember why he wants to. He tries not to tense, tries not to encourage the ecstatic warmth pooling in his belly, letting it wash over him and through him as his lover raises it anyway and he wants it so badly he can taste it. He's begging, pleading: If he ever had any dignity about this, if he ever thought he had control over his body's reactions, that time is long gone. The Doctor knows him, knows the fine shades of his responses, each moan and hitch of breath. And then, with what Jack _needs_ just out of reach, his lover stops, stills, leaves him full but wanting, hard and untouched. It's pleasure without release, and Jack can hear the Doctor talking to him, wrapping that voice around him, reminding Jack that he wants this, that he loves this, and fuck, fuck, _fuck_ \--that voice is right, even as tears stream down Jack's face.

The Doctor gives him a few minutes, and then starts again. Jack tries not to count, enjoying the moment, enjoying the way he's lost in the act of sex, enjoying the vast, quiet spaces inside his own head, but every time he reaches that edge, the quiet feels a little more fragile, like it might shatter and take him with it. Begging isn't enough, cursing isn't enough; he swears he's going past the point of no return more than once . . . but each time, the Doctor stops right there. Jack starts to wonder if he could go mad from this: He can't bear it, and yet he doesn't want it to stop. He doesn't want to fail the Doctor, but he knows he's going to slip, slide right past that edge into orgasm, an explosion at the base of his spine that he needs, craves . . . and he starts to wonder--would it be so bad? The Doctor will be disappointed in him. He'll punish him, but Jack can take it, he _wants_ it, anything the Doctor asks of him, only, _he needs this_ . . .

The Doctor yanks Jack's hips tight against his own, so that it's impossible for Jack to move. At the same time, those strong, cool fingers clench tightly around the base of his cock. Jack's groan becomes a whine, the sharp contrast of the pain just one more sensation, hardly worth noticing beside the way he's just lost any chance of release. He wants to cry, to beg for mercy, to pound his fist into the mattress with frustration until his lover spanks him.

Then the Doctor pulls out of him, and the emptiness of Jack's body drives the point home, bringing with it a hollowness in his chest. It's not that he's failed--it's that he gave up, without ever quite meaning to. He hesitates, then cranes his head around to look over his shoulder at his partner.

The Doctor's eyes are unreadable--that way he gets, sometimes, when he doesn't quite understand humans. Especially his two particular humans. He says, "You don't get to choose, Captain. _I_ get to choose."

Because Jack _wants_ him to choose. Shame wraps icy claws around Jack's throat. He swallows against them and his eyes fall to the bedclothes. "I know. I'm sorry, Doctor."

He expected punishment, but he didn't expect the look on the Doctor's face. Jack's not a lover to him in this moment, not a toy, not a possession--he's a puzzle, and not one the Doctor entirely approves of. The attention is still there, but there's no emotion in it, and the lack goes quickly from disappointing to devastating.

The Doctor says, "Stay there, Jack. I'm going to wash up." He turns and walks away from Jack, and Jack can't help watching his retreating form as he steps into the _en suite_.

Jack rolls slowly onto his side and tucks his knees up toward his chin, curling in on himself as the heat in his skin dissipates. He starts to shiver. He can hear the Doctor turn on the shower, and under the steady rain of the water, there are the low, familiar sounds of his lover getting off.

The hollow feeling in Jack's chest transmutes into something like nausea, or maybe pain. The Doctor's given up on him. He'll want to stop. When Jack gave up, he broke the rules, and the idea that it all ends here, in failure and despair, takes disbelief and regret and runs them through his guts like a sword.

The soft cry of release from the shower scrapes over his nerves like fingernails down a blackboard. Not having his partner's pleasure is so much worse than not having his own.

***

  
The Doctor wasn't entirely sure where he'd gone wrong. Or _if_ he'd gone wrong. Maybe Jack had just hit some limit neither one of them could have anticipated. Maybe he _needed_ to fail, and the Doctor shouldn't have stopped it. The Doctor had felt the tiny shudder that ran through Jack's frame, the infinitesimal relaxation and the sense of despair as his partner quit fighting. He'd had a split second to decide if Jack should get away with it, to decide if it was real. But there'd been no safeword--no signal to stop.

And since they weren't stopping, what the Doctor _couldn't_ do was go back out there and ask Jack if he was all right. He'd already seen that Jack's focus had to stay on _him_ , or nothing worked. Letting Jack hear him taking his pleasure would make Jack very aware of where his lover _wasn't_. If they both meant to go on as they'd begun, Jack would be beyond repentant when he walked back into that room.

And if not, they'd stop. That was the easy part. What was harder was figuring out how to go on: Ignoring the disobedience would imply that it didn't matter, and Jack needed it to matter. If the Doctor meant for Jack to be able to really let go, he had to keep hold of the control that his partner was giving up.

He had to take it seriously. Anything else would leave Jack . . . half-finished, somehow, caught in a state somewhere between surrender and fulfillment.

He wrapped the towel around his waist before walking out of the _en suite_. It was a useless affectation--he wasn't wet, he wasn't cold, and nudity certainly didn't bother him. But as subtle psychological signals went, leaving Jack naked while he was clothed (even in a towel) reinforced their relative positions--the roles they'd agreed to play.

Jack lay curled in the foetal position, his eyes on his lover as the Doctor crossed to the foot of the bed. He was shivering despite an ambient temperature well-suited to humans. "You look cold, lad," the Doctor said. "You're not meant to be cold."

Jack struggled, visibly, at the unexpected turn in conversation. "I . . . "

The Doctor patted his ankle, confirming a chill that must be some manifestation of emotional shock. He sat on the edge of the bed, stroking Jack's skin gently. "Jack, can I really push you if I can't trust you? If you want to suffer for me, it can't only be when you want it."

Jack's eyes closed, failure writ large on his face. The Doctor felt the muscles under his hand relax. "I'm sorry, Doctor."

The Doctor squeezed his leg in response. He stood and walked over to the supply cupboard again, opening the doors to study his options. There were certainly advantages to trans-dimensional engineering, but sometimes, nothing spurred the thought processes quite like being able to see all your choices laid out in front of you. He didn't want to really hurt his partner, but he needed something . . . serious.

Or at least, something Jack _thought_ was serious. In his current state, the lad was more than suggestible--it almost bordered on a trance state or auto-hypnosis. As long as Jack _believed_ him, the Doctor needed very little force to confront his lover with a hard choice.

And Jack enjoyed hard choices.

The Doctor pulled out a short, slender wand, responsive to psychic control. As he closed the cupboard doors, he found Jack's eyes on him, watching him. "Merovite force whip," he said. "Nasty piece of work--originated as a way of subduing slaves. The force line causes pain without doing damage."

He placed the whip on the duvet where Jack couldn't help looking at it. Jack regarded it without recognition. The Doctor went on. "I want the best you're capable of, Captain. You gave up just now. You weren't fair to yourself, because you can do better than that. Weren't fair to Rose, because you're meant to wait on her return. And you weren't fair to me: You took the choice out of my hands and you stopped trusting me."

He knew he'd hit the right note when Jack bit his lip and swallowed visibly. "I'm sorry, Doctor."

The Doctor didn't answer, letting his silence build Jack's anticipation. "You can take four blows from that," the Doctor decided, and heard his partner whimper. "One for yourself, one for Rose, and two for me. Or we can stop. You can come. You can sleep." He kept his voice serious but let affection soften his expression.

Jack's eyes held a fear that was closer to panic, but his body's interest didn't flag, and the Doctor didn't think the punishment was what he feared. His eyes fell shut and he drew deep breaths, stretching slowly out on the bed clothes, still shaking. He rolled onto his back. _And just what do you expect me to hit with you stretched out like . . . Oh._ The Doctor blinked as he understood. _Rassilon, sometimes you scare me a little, lad._

He wouldn't risk Jack's reaching reflexively to protect himself and unwittingly taking some blow that wasn't intended. The handiest restraints were soft ropes stashed under the bed, and the Doctor used them to bind Jack's hands above his head and his ankles to opposing bedposts. He watched his lover watch him (half-closed blue eyes touched with desire, fear, and trust) as he collected the whip and stood by the side of the bed. It took only the faintest concentration to adjust the force level, and no effort at all to strike with it.

Jack cried out helplessly with each blow, reacting to what he _expected_ to feel, not the force that was actually there.

Afterward, he lay insensible, staring blankly at the ceiling and still shivering. The Doctor surreptitiously took his pulse as he unfastened the restraints. Strong and steady, but his skin was still cooler than a human's should be. He lifted Jack enough to tug the bedclothes out from under him, then let the towel around his hips fall to the floor and stretched out beside him, pulling sheets and duvet up over them both.

***

  
The Doctor pulled him close, wrapping his arms around him and holding him while he shivered uncontrollably. The Time Lord's skin might be cool, but the tenderness of his touch, the gentle words and the fingers that stroked Jack's hair, warmed him in a way that had nothing to do with temperature. The Doctor murmured, "It's all right, Jack, it's all right. I'm here, I won't leave you . . . "

Jack found himself drifting, curled against his lover's chest as exhaustion draped itself over him like a heavy blanket. The Doctor pressed small kisses against his flesh, starting at the top of his head, moving down his face, telling him how good he was, how good he _would_ be.

Jack believed him.

"Do you want to stop, Jack?"

Safe in the Doctor's arms and lazy with fatigue, it didn't feel like a threat--just a question. Jack had to try twice before he could marshal his lips for an answer: "No."

The Doctor kissed his forehead and then his lips. Jack managed to tangle his tongue with his lover's for a moment before the kisses continued their gentle way down his body. He was already hard again before the Doctor's mouth ever touched his cock.


	6. Part 5: Desolation and Love

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written for Yamx and the TARDIS Blue bidding coalition, who won me with a very generous donation to Support Stacie. Very graciously beta read by FuzzyBoo03 and Viridian Magpie. Disclaimer: I don't own them, and I'm sure the BBC is relieved.

Jack's world is a kaleidoscope of ever-changing sensations, each one a vivid, jewel-like bead repeating itself across a span where time has no meaning. He finds himself tied, spread-eagled, staring fascinated at a long candle burning in the Doctor's hand. The Doctor tilts the candle to drip a trickle of wax along Jack's arm. It makes him gasp, but the heat's not hot enough to burn. The Doctor nods, looking vaguely satisfied.

Jack's eyes are glued to the candle's flame as it moves above his chest, the Doctor spilling that heat across his skin in long, slow lines that begin to move down his body. Jack finds himself watching with helpless anticipation.

His lover murmurs, "If I do this right, it could take a very long time."

Jack's cock twitches at the thought, and he can't seem to find words, though he manages an inarticulate moan.

***

  
Jack's bent forward over a rough, sandpaper-surfaced table as the Doctor penetrates him with something thick and very slightly electrically charged. He's held in place by a crosspiece resting over the small of his back, padded and furred. There isn't much room to move--just enough that every time the Doctor thrusts into him, his hips shift. The table surface rasps lightly against his skin, and the damn fur almost tickles. The contrast in sensations makes Jack's head spin, and the prickle of electricity so near his prostate (but never directly on it, too much chance of pushing him over the edge) has him begging the Doctor to stop, please, _fuck_ , he's going to come, he _needs_ to come--

"No," the Doctor says tenderly, "you only _want_ to come. You'll _need_ to come _later_."

Jack groans and waits and begs some more, so trapped and overstimulated, he can't imagine anything else being quite this perfect.

***

  
They've ended up in the library. It doesn't seem important how. The Doctor's settled into the corner of a sofa, reading a book. Jack's comfortable enough half-sitting, half-kneeling on the floor with his head resting on the Doctor's thigh. He's half-awake and just barely rubbing himself against his lover's jeans. He hardly has to, and he's already left that trouser leg appallingly damp. He can't get too worked up about it, not when he's so close to orgasm, and the Doctor is carding his fingers absently through Jack's hair.

Sometime--he's not sure when, time is such a meaningless way of looking at events--the Doctor tells him to stand up. He does, and his lover holds him at arms' length. The Doctor bends and traces the tip of his tongue delicately along the slit of Jack's cock. Jack cries out and buries his nails in the palms of his hands, lost on the edge of coming.

When he can breathe again, the Doctor is looking up at him, hands resting lightly on Jack's hips. "This won't do," he says, mildly. Jack blinks, slowly, not following and too distracted for words. The Doctor says, "You're wound so tight, I can't even tease you. Where's the fun in that?"

Jack shakes his head a little and tries to focus. "I'm sorry?" he says.

The Doctor smiles at him--not the manic grin, or the smile of pure delight he sometimes gets when they're exploring, but the subdued expression of genuine happiness that sometimes trespasses on the foreign territory of the Doctor's face when it's just him and his partners in a quiet moment together--and sets his book aside. He tugs Jack down onto the sofa beside him and pulls his lover close, so Jack's reclining against his chest, head resting on the Doctor's shoulder. Jack relaxes into him, content to feel the Doctor's hands stroking along his skin. The Doctor murmurs, "I'm going to do something terrible to you, Jack."

Jack's breath catches in his throat. He shivers with something that could be fear, could be desire . . . is definitely anticipation. He swallows against the sensation. "Doctor?" he asks.

The Doctor slips one arm around his chest, pinning his arms gently to his body. Jack relaxes. His lover's other hand strokes his belly, just below his sternum. "Going to unwind you a bit . . . but not let you come."

Maybe the words would make sense if Jack were really thinking, but he's reacting, emoting, unable to concentrate much beyond feeling helpless and protected in his lover's embrace. The Doctor's fingers slip down his stomach, painfully slowly, drawing his attention with them. "What?" he says, wondering if he sounds as befuddled as he feels.

"Release without pleasure," the Doctor says gently, his fingers drifting along a hip bone and then sliding along the valley where thigh meets groin.

Jack understands, then, and it wrings a whimper of inarticulate protest from him. He's so close . . . the idea of coming right to the edge of pleasure and having the climax stolen from him--even the delicious, banked embers of desire gone cold, makes his stomach roil and his palms sweat. "No," he breathes.

"It will barely take the edge off, lad. Just enough that I can touch you without this--"

If there's more to that sentence, Jack never knows it, as the Doctor ghosts one hand up the length of his cock, the feather-light touch of his hand barely starting back down again before Jack's straining for control, gasping, his hips working mindlessly to thrust into a pressure that's no longer there. He gasps and growls, frustrated and denied, wanting . . . and vaguely horrified as he comes back to himself. "No," he repeats, but it sounds like a moan in his own ears.

"Yes," the Doctor says, his hand sliding between Jack's legs to finger the sweet spot just behind his balls.

Jack writhes, trapped by a more-than-human strength, unable to escape as that small stimulation nearly brings him and he has to fight again. To be good. To obey the first rule. To please his Doctor. "No," he begs, forcing the word out on a scant breath.

The Doctor holds him. "Yes," he says.

Jack whimpers. He struggles with his breathing, forcing deep, slow draughts of air into his lungs.

The Doctor kisses his temple. "Will be amazing, it will," he murmurs, "to take that from you--to deny you what you want most, except you want me to own you even more, and I want this from you, want this _for_ you . . . "

And _fuck_ , like he wasn't hard _before_. Jack doesn't want this and doesn't want to watch as the Doctor swirls his thumb through the slick pre-come around the head of his cock. Jack's making wretched little noises in the back of his throat, and he can't seem to stop them. They grow higher and more nasal as the Doctor draws slow rings around the swollen flesh, then circles it lightly with thumb and forefinger, pulling so gently as Jack struggles not to come, because if he doesn't come, it won't happen, only it's going to happen, he can feel it, he can't stop it, and--

And those fingers are gone, the Doctor's arm wrapping around his thigh as a moment that's so close, trying so hard, to be an orgasm fills him . . . and then bleeds away. The Doctor holds his hips still even as the arm around Jack's chest tightens with a Time Lord's strength. Jack tries to buck, tries to thrust, tries for any bit of friction, though he knows with a surreal clarity that he won't find it. He struggles in the Doctor's grip, constrained and unable to reach for his own erection as the moment slips through his fingers, all that potential for pleasure draining away as his cock dances a horrifying dance completely outside his influence, cum dribbling from him and leaving nothing, nothing, not even that delicious need . . .

He's beyond swearing now: he's sobbing, hopelessly. All he can feel is that empty place inside him, that thing he's lost, the weight of despair crushing him.

Then the Doctor murmurs, right next to his ear, "That was perfect, Jack. Beautiful. It's fantastic, it is, watching you surrender, taking something that matters from you, and knowing you're _giving_ it to me. Because you love me. Because you trust me to do the terrible things to you."

Jack struggles to turn in the Doctor's embrace, squirming around until he can cling to his partner with both arms. He rests his head against the Doctor's chest, and his lover's hands drift over his skin, petting and soothing him.

"So good, you are. So very good, Jack."

Jack doesn't _feel_ good, he feels wrung out. But the longer the Doctor holds him, the less hollow he feels. And maybe it's not entirely bad to be hollowed out. It leaves space for his Doctor to fill, and he wants to be filled.

"It's better now, isn't it? Easier. And it was horrible, but it wasn't a waste, never that. I can touch you more now. Tease you again. Make you beg, make you cry, do all those things you love, and the things you love to hate . . . "

The words make Jack's breath catch in his throat, and desire begins to stir in the empty places inside him. He's not sure anything about this is "easy," but would he want that, anyway? As wretched as he feels, he's safe and loved and in the Doctor's arms, and there's something very right about it. Against all expectation, Jack finds his cock hardening again . . . and as he becomes aware of that, he notices he's not the only one turned on by this.

The Doctor works a hand between them and cups Jack's growing erection, wringing a deep, slow groan from him. " _Much_ better," the Doctor decides. "Now I'll give you a choice, lad. Which will make you more miserable: if I suck your cock, or if you ride mine?"

The question evokes intense visualizations. Jack's mouth goes dry and his cock goes even harder in the Doctor's hand. He wants, intensely, to take the Doctor into his body; to pace his movements so they produce only pleasure, not pain; to watch his lover's expression relax and then tighten again with orgasm. The Doctor's lips on his cock would be good, so good, but the Doctor won't stop, will work him to a fever-pitch and then leave him hanging there, painfully in want . . .

"If you do," Jack says honestly.

The Doctor hugs him even tighter for a moment and kisses the top of his head. Then he pushes Jack gently backward, laying him down in the wet spots on the sofa. Jack pulls a face at the cold stickiness. The Doctor comes up on his knees. He rubs his thumb over the point of Jack's hip, making small circles that make him twitch a little and moan. "You ready to be miserable, then?" he asks.

Jack hesitates, wanting and not wanting. "Yes," he whispers.

His lover's hand retreats. Intense blue eyes stare down at Jack, waiting for something.

The Doctor. _His_ Doctor. Jack understands. "Yes, Doctor," he says.


	7. Part 6: Exhaustion and Fulfillment

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written for Yamx and the TARDIS Blue bidding coalition, who won me with a very generous donation to Support Stacie. Beta'd by FuzzyBoo03 and Viridian Magpie. Any remaining mistakes are All Mine. Disclaimer: I don't own them, and I'm sure the BBC is relieved.

Rose closed the TARDIS doors behind her and leaned back against the familiar wooden panels, letting the background hum and the other small noises of the time ship soothe her. The Doctor had said she should take whatever time she needed, and it had been great to spend the time with Mum--it really helped her get her feet under her again, after Wallvan. But after three days, she was looking forward to being home with her partners and sleeping in her own bed.

Which made her wonder what she'd find going on in their bed. Or the kitchen, or the shower . . . She had some idea what to expect, and the Doctor had warned her not to risk her mum's following her back into the TARDIS, or Jackie might get an eyeful she'd rather not have.

When she'd passed the empty kitchen, dropped her things in their bedroom, and not heard anything from the _en suite_ , she thought about Jack and concentrated on the faint warmth that was always there--the little tug that said Jack was _that_ way, and no other. She let it lead her down the main corridor, around a corner, down two flights of stairs and into a series of smaller hallways. It was as if the TARDIS had meant to . . . not _hide_ Jack and the Doctor, exactly, but keep them from casual intrusions. The door she finally found herself in front of opened easily under her touch.

She recognized some of what was in the room from the times they'd gone to some club of Jack's choosing with him on her leash. She wasn't really surprised, but she hadn't expected it in the TARDIS, somehow. She stood in the doorway a moment, absorbing the scene. She could hear the Doctor's voice in a low murmur, and Jack moaned in reply. She knew that sound, full of misery and desire. Rose stepped inside and let the door close behind her. She made her way past a bed, around something that looked mostly like a sturdy door leaned back at a bit of an angle with restraint points around its edge, and past a pillory with a set of padded stocks--and wasn't she glad she didn't have to explain _that_ to her mum.

She discovered Jack spread-eagled on a padded table, a spider web of soft ropes crisscrossing his body and holding him quite, quite still. Something that looked like a feather duster (and for all she knew, it wasn't any more complicated than that) was suspended from the ceiling so that it hung over his cock, the feathers hiding the swollen flesh from her view. A blindfold covered his eyes, but despair and need played across what she could see of his face. He didn't seem to be appreciating the feather duster--or rather, he appreciated it in the way he appreciated being wretched and wanting--and after a minute, she saw why. It drifted in a very persistent draft, moving just enough that Jack couldn't ignore it, without really offering enough sensation to do more than keep him persistently, painfully aroused. His desperate whimper said more than words ever could about how deep he was, how much he hated this delicate torture, and how surely he was enjoying it. The sound went into her ears and skipped straight past her brain to tighten things low in her belly. She found her lips parted and licked them a little nervously.

The Doctor sat in a chair to one side, watching both his partners and clearly enjoying the show. Rose looked at him and then nodded at their restrained and suffering lover. "How long's he been like this?" she asked.

The Doctor shrugged, as if the answer wasn't important to him. "Told him he wouldn't come until you got home," he said.

Rose found herself staring as it dawned on her that he didn't mean this business with the feather duster, or whatever it was--he meant in general. Since she'd left the pair of them. And yeah, Jack enjoyed the waiting, but not like _this_. She opened her mouth to say god, she was home, let him come already . . . except Jack wasn't complaining, not in any way she was meant to take for real, and the Doctor understood what was and wasn't all right for their partner--sometimes better than she did. And it wouldn't be right for Jack, after all this build-up, to have things end so quickly. He'd been down so deep, for so long, that the scene wanted more than that to finish it out.

"Well, I'm home now." She reached out a hand to stroke Jack's bare chest in between the ropes. He trembled under her touch. "What should we do with him?"

The Doctor smiled, and she knew she'd got it right. "Thought we'd leave that up to you," he offered.

It was almost unfair to her, in a way, coming in at the end and not knowing just what Jack had been through over the last few days. But at the same time, that unwitting helplessness at her hands was something Jack would really want. Part of him wanted to be owned, always, by his partners--wanted them to be dominant to him, wanted them to put their needs above his own. And Rose, having no idea what he'd suffered, was meant to have what she wanted without regard to what he thought . . . except that she loved him.

She stroked his hair above the blindfold, and he quivered under her touch. "Beautiful Jack," she whispered. " _My_ Jack. I know how long you've waited, but I want you inside me when you come."

She got a distressed whine for her trouble--not that she expected words, not with where Jack was right now--and knew she'd made the right choice. She bent and kissed his forehead. "I know, I know. But I came in late, an' I need to catch up with you. So we'll let you up, and then you're going to walk to the bedroom, coz I want my own bed tonight. I know you'll wait that long. Because you love me."

***

  
The Doctor led Jack to their bed and murmured softly in his ear while Rose undressed. She stole a kiss and a caress as he stepped away from Jack, but he didn't linger, moving instead toward the chair at the side of the room. Feeling both their eyes on her as the Doctor chose to watch and Jack waited passively, and knowing that she wasn't _ready_ \--not in the way she needed to be--made her face heat, even as it sent a shiver up her spine and hardened her nipples. She still wasn't entirely comfortable being watched. It was hard to climb up on the bed, knowing how exposed she was from the rear, but if the weight of the Doctor's gaze was embarrassing, it was also a turn-on.

And Jack . . . Jack watched like she was the only thing that mattered in his world as she smoothed the palms of her hands over her own breasts. She tried not to think about the need in his eyes as she knelt, knees spread, in front of him and slipped her fingers between her thighs. The attention was awkward, yeah, but the intensity of his gaze was also flattering in a way she couldn't quite explain. Because it _wasn't_ just the need for relief, just the need for someone, anyone. He wanted _her_ , watched _her_ , waited for her because he _loved_ her . . . The thought let the weight of orgasm gathered deep in her body spill out over her, leaving her to catch herself on hands and knees.

She crawled toward him and straddled his hips. He bit his lip, but stayed still under her, waiting. She leaned forward to kiss his lips. "I love you," she said, and then sank back onto him, opening herself slowly on his cock.

She moved gently for him and watched the strain in his face as he tried to wait on her pleasure. "Jack," she said softly, "you don't have to wait. 'm not going anywhere." She punctuated her words with short, sharp movements of her hips. "As hard as you want. As much as you want. As often as you need."

***

  
The quiet promise is enough. Jack lets go, trusting them to catch him. He thrusts raggedly up into Rose's welcoming warmth, and then pleasure steals his breath away and shatters his world into small, bright, sharp-edged pieces.

He floats in a haze of aftershocks and relief and fatigue. Time passes. He finds Rose folded into his arms and feels the Doctor's reassuring weight pressed close against his back. "Jack. You with us?" Rose asks.

He manages a nod, and she kisses his throat.

"Mostly, anyway?" the Doctor suggests, his voice gentle and teasing as he strokes Jack's hip.

Jack needs, suddenly, to tell them . . . to make them understand what this means to him. He works slowly to get the words out, voice thick and heavy in his own ears. "That . . . was amazing."

"And a bit terrifying to watch, sometimes," the Doctor says.

Rose makes an inquisitive noise, but Jack never hears the Doctor answer. He struggles on: "Might . . . do it again. In two or three years." The Doctor brushes a kiss across the back of his neck.

His eyes are closing and Rose lays a soft fingertip against his lips. "Go to sleep, Jack," she says. "Goin' to take care of you. And we'll still be here when you wake up."


	8. Epilogue: This, Too, Is Love

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written for Yamx and the TARDIS Blue bidding coalition, who won me with a very generous donation to Support Stacie. Beta credit goes to Yamx, RobinC, and Viridian Magpie. The last part couldn't quite please everyone, and this part probably won't either. But this is what the story needed to be.
> 
> Disclaimer: I don't own them, and I'm sure the BBC is relieved.

Sleep was entirely underrated, Jack thought happily. It was gorgeous and invigorating and, most recently, seeded with vague memories of half-awake lovemaking and Rose's arms around him as he fell asleep again. He luxuriated in the complete lack of urgency as he came more fully awake. He felt . . . lighter, somehow, like some unseen pressure bearing down on his skin had suddenly been lifted. His blood sang in his veins and the slight, perfect strain in his muscles as he stretched to his fullest was a delightful reminder of his own physical capacity and the delicious things he'd put his body through in the last few days.

His outstretched arm found rumpled bedclothes on one side but no sign of Rose other than the lingering scents of shampoo and sex. He'd been without sleep long enough, it didn't really surprise him that she'd got out of bed before him for once. He turned his head the other way to find the Doctor lying on his back with his eyes open, staring at the ceiling.

Jack rolled on his side and spotted the three faint lines he'd half-expected lurking between his partner's eyebrows. He leaned down and kissed the Doctor's lips. They parted distractedly under his own. "You're thinking way too hard," Jack murmured.

"I know," the Doctor responded, his eyes still deep and brooding as he regarded Jack.

Jack ignored the brooding and kissed him again, deeper this time, trying to draw him out of whatever far and unpleasant places he'd found, seeking a response in the here and now. But, awkwardly enough, the response Jack found was his own, and it swept over him with a speed and force that startled him. "I want . . . " he breathed. The words slipped out without art or artifice, and some small, detached part of him wondered vaguely how long this sort of reaction was likely to last.

The Doctor's eyes cleared and the frown lines lifted, a rare, sweet smile touching his lips. "Good," he said quietly, tugging Jack down on top of him.

The age and distance bled out of the Doctor's gaze as his eyes darkened with desire. Warm lips kissed cool ones. Hands caressed eager flesh. Quiet gasps and incoherent murmurs gave way to " _Rassilon_ , don't stop there," when Jack hesitated.

Jack's lips parted and his eyes closed as he pushed into his partner's body. When he opened his eyes, the Doctor's face was drawn both with pleasure and the need to fill, however briefly, the empty places in his soul.

Wordlessly, Jack gave himself up to passion, and filled them.

Afterward, they lay in each other's arms, Jack's sweat cooling on both their skins. The Doctor opened his mouth, closed it, opened it again, and hesitated.

Jack smiled and shook his head, silencing the words unspoken, and kissed the Doctor's forehead. "I love you, too," he said.


End file.
